Chapter 19: Cenric

Chapter

Nineteen

CENRIC

The moment I leave Everly in her tent, I gather Praxis, Liam, Gabriel, Luc, and fifty of my best men. Nobody attacks my army and lives to see the sunset.

As we point our horses toward Karra, Praxis rides to my right, with Gabriel, Liam, and Luc shadowing us.

"We start at the market," I say, my voice carrying over the clatter of horses' hooves. "Split into groups of ten. Question everyone."

My warriors nod as we stop outside the city, where the guards raise the portcullis.

I came here to ensure peace, not to watch as my men get picked off one by one.

Now, the rebels are attacking civilians too.

We dismount near the busy marketplace and split into groups.

I stride toward the first shop, a medium-sized bakery. The owner, a round man with flour-dusted hands, smiles as I approach.

"Did you see the attack earlier in the market by three masked men?" I ask.

"I—I didn't see anything," he stammers, though he doesn't look away as he speaks.

I take it as a sign he's not lying and move on.

Shop after shop, we gather scraps of information. A cobbler mentions seeing suspicious men with masks near the docks. A fruit vendor recalls seeing my men being attacked and the women throwing apples, pears, and figs at them.

My blood heats at the thought of Everly forced to defend herself with fruit. She should have a weapon. I make a mental note to give her one.

I press onward through the winding streets, determined to root out the truth. Most shops I visit yield little, with fearful merchants and patrons claiming ignorance. Still, I persist, questioning person after person. I cling to each scrap shared with me—a glimpse of a scar, traces of an accent, the cut of a surcoat. Slowly, the fractured pieces come together, forming images of our foes.

I know exactly who they are.

Two of them work at the docks. I've seen them there before, unloading cargo from the ships. They keep their heads down, avoiding eye contact.

The third man is an assistant to a blacksmith. I've spotted him lugging materials and finished weapons.

Eventually, I reunite with Luc, Liam, Gabriel, Praxis, and the rest of my men, and we head toward The Rusty Anvil, where the attackers were last spied.

I push open the door of The Rusty Anvil, and the stale scent of ale and sweat hits me as I step inside. Luc, Liam, Gabriel, and Praxis file in behind me.

To my left, a long bar stretches the length of the wall, its surface scarred and pitted from countless mugs and brawls over the summers. Behind it, rows of jars line shelves that haven't been cleaned in ages.

My gaze sweeps over the patrons. Most hunch over their drinks, avoiding eye contact. A few glance up to stare at us.

In the far shadowy corner, a group of men huddle around a table. They keep their heads close together as they speak in hushed tones. Even from across the room, I know who they are.

As I approach the table, the three men look up, their eyes widening as they recognize me. I plant my hands on the table, leaning in close.

"You're all coming with me," I say, my voice low and cold.

The men exchange nervous glances. One opens his mouth to argue, then Luc, Liam, Gabriel, and Praxis step closer, and he snaps his mouth closed.

The blacksmith's assistant bolts from his chair, knocking it over as he makes a desperate dash for the door.

I reach for the nearest terracotta jar on the table and launch it across the room. It spins through the air, connecting with a sickening thud to the back of the man's head. He stumbles forward two more steps before his legs give out, and he drops to the floor.

I turn back to the remaining men at the table. "Anyone else feeling brave?"

They shake their heads, eyes downcast.

"Wise choice." I nod to Praxis and Gabriel. "Bind them."

As they secure the prisoners, I walk over to the unconscious man on the floor. I crouch down, checking for a pulse. "He's alive. How unfortunate for him."

Liam yanks the unconscious man off the floor and throws him over his shoulder. The rest of the patrons remain silent as Liam carries the man out the front door.

I keep my expression hard and impassive, even as triumph thrums through my veins.

We accomplished what we came here to do, sending a clear message that any attack on our army will be met with swift, merciless retaliation.